


Together

by coconutcranberries (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, a little bit of well-hidden angst, but its not about 3b, events take place after 3b
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:48:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/coconutcranberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-I found this prompt:<br/>You know what I really, really want?</p>
<p>I want a Sterek fic within the fake-boyfriends trope but with a twist - I want them to both not attracted to each other. No, I don’t want them to be hating each other, just that both Stiles and Derek are not into each other. Like yeah, Stiles can objectively tell you that Derek is hotter than the sun and yeah, Derek can totally tell you that Stiles is attractive to gay guys, but in the end, they are both just on friendly terms and nothing more. </p>
<p>BUT THEN, PLOT HAPPENS AND NOW THEY HAVE TO PRETEND TO BE BOYFRIENDS! And okay, so (maybe) Stiles is bisexual (let’s pray that this is canon, because hints is only as good as a misplaced invitation card) and Derek is probably like pansexual or something, BUT THE POINT IS, they are both not attracted to each other and now they have to act as if they really do not not want to bone the other till the next sunrise. </p>
<p>-So I wrote it, kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiimraen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiimraen/gifts).



> Hola people of earth! I literally saw this prompt thing today and figured out a way to write it in three parts, so hear you go!  
> Oh and if anyone was reading my demon!Stiles fic, then i'm terribly sorry but i accidentally deleted it and if i can put it back up then i will :) I have no idea if this is any good btw, so I hope it's not too bad! I hope you enjoy it, next part up soon :3
> 
> In which Stiles and Derek genuinely are just friends, but have to pretend to be boyfriends at some kind of werewolf get-together in order to convince a load of snobby packs to get their grubby paws off of Beacon Hills. They really didn't think this through. Not even a tiny bit.

“Together? Like, _together_ together? With touching and feelings and stuff? Or the kind of together where you just kind of stand near each other and everyone assumes and that’s enough for everyone and won’t get you killed?” 

Stiles thinks he can be excused for being just a tad confused at Scott’s request. By the way Derek’s eyebrows are skydiving down his face, he totally agrees with Stiles, which doesn’t happen often despite them being almost friends now. That’s not to say that Derek isn’t still a dick sometimes and that Stiles doesn’t have asshole-ish tendencies, because they do, but still. Almost, kind of, sort-of friends is better than nothing. 

Scott ignores Stiles’ confusion and charges on with his explanation. They’re all gathered at the McCall’s house, it’s a Saturday and Stiles is _confused goddamnit_. By “all” Stiles means Derek and Scott. Well, and Stiles himself obviously. Melissa has a shift at the hospital and has decreed that they can only have pack meetings when she’s not here, so she can pretend they aren’t causing some kind of horrific damage to her house. Not that this really counts as a proper pack meeting because they aren’t all there but, it would still be unwise to disobey Mrs McCall’s orders.

“Deaton thinks it’s the best way. It’ll only take a couple of days and then you can come back. It’s not like you haven’t got the time to spare,” Scott widens his eyes innocently at Stiles’ doubtful look. 

“Thanks Scotty,” he says solemnly. 

“You know what I mean!” 

“And where is dear old Doc, anyway? Shouldn’t he be telling us this himself, seeing as it’s his crazy scheme?” Stiles slumps back into the couch cushions, crossing his arms grumpily. He uncrosses them immediately when Derek snorts at him, glaring balefully at the werewolf, who’s leaning against the window on the opposite side of the room. Derek grins back and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Deaton’s gone ahead to try and smooth things over. He called yesterday to let me know what was going on.” Scott explains. 

“I’m still not entirely sure what’s going on, if im honest, which I always am because honesty is very important,” Stiles ignored the disbelieving scoffs he gets in reply and points at  
Scott, waggling his finger, “why does it have to be me and Derek? Surely it should-“

“Derek and I,” Derek corrects him. Interrupts him, is more like it, which, _rude_. Scott doesn’t bother hiding a laugh at Stiles’ outraged expression. 

“Fine then, grammar freak. Why does it have to be Derek and I? Why not you and Lydia or Allison and Isaac, someone in our pack that’s actually a couple?” Stiles waits while Scott looks thoughtful for a second, until finally he says, “shouldn’t it be Derek and me?” 

Stiles makes a sound that cannot be considered remotely human but does sound a little bit like a whale dying, if you listen hard enough. Not that he’s ever heard a whale dying, but he can imagine the sound well enough. Scott takes pity on him, looking a little bit sheepish, whilst Derek laughs to himself in the corner. 

“Well, alphas aren’t allowed at this convention thing. The leaders think it’ll cause too much conflict, what with there being at least a hundred packs in attendance. So that rules out me and by extension, Lydia.” Stiles nods, accepting that. He doesn’t think it’s really a good idea to stick at least one hundred alphas in a hotel away from their territory. It would be a miracle if the walls were left standing. He makes a gesture with his hands for Scott to continue. “Allison’s a hunter.” Ah. Well, okay, there isn’t really a lot of explanation needed for that one. 

“Fine, fine. So, let me get this straight, Derek and I have to pretend to be boyfriends for about roughly five days, in a large hotel-slash-supernatural convention full of walking lie detectors, so that we don’t get taken out by neighbouring packs that think we have weak members and want to steal our territory?” 

“Finally. It’s not that complicated Stiles.” Derek says, raising an eyebrow. Scott, bless him, just nods at him, beaming happily. 

“That’s right! And then you can come back and help me move into my new apartment. Mum can’t wait to get rid of me, she pushed me to get the lease a year earlier than I was going to.” 

“That might have something to do with the spaghetti and the microwave incident about a month ago.” Derek deadpans, smirking at the way Stiles and Scott both wince. They have a sacred pact to _never speak of that day_.

“Derek, dude,” Stiles whines, standing up, “you’re breaking the pact!” 

“I’ll break a lot more than that if you don’t move faster, idiot. You drove me here, I need to you to drive me back so im not late for work again.” Stiles shrugs but steps up his pace a bit because as much as pissing Derek off is fun, practically the highlight of his day, he’s glad the man has more of an actual life now. He even somewhat resembles an adult sometimes, rather than a grumpy teenager. 

Stiles is in his jeep and pulling out of the drive before he realises Scott never answered his first question. 

“Okay, so I know it was implied, but exactly how together do we have to pretend to be? Like, together together?”

“Stiles, just drive.” Stiles drives. 

 

The trip doesn’t take more than ten minutes and Stiles punches Derek in the shoulder cheerily before pulling out of the driveway of the newly put together Hale House. Stiles remembers the summer after his last year of high school, after all the shit had gone down with the nematon and the darkness and weird as hell hallucinations. He remembers sitting out here with Lydia ad Allison, drinking lemonade and watching all the werewolves wander around trying to fix the house. “Trying” being the operative word. It hadn’t taken long before Derek lost his patience (he may have mellowed out by then, but he was still Derek) and called the best team of builders and decorators he could find. 

It had taken all summer, plus half of Stiles’ first year at college for the house to be finished. He couldn’t deny that it looked pretty amazing. He’d seen a couple of pictures of the old house in old newspapers in the library and it came quite close to the original. It looked even better once Lydia had filled it with furniture, bought with a shiny card that she claimed was just a spare and that Stiles suspected was actually Jacksons. 

Now it’s kind of a pack hangout, though Stiles hasn’t really been there in a while. He’s just finished his first year at UCLA, studying forensic psychology and mythology. They haven’t started anything about werewolves yet, but considering Stiles has the entire bestiary practically memorised, he’s not that bad at other mythological creatures either. 

He’s pulled from his distracted thoughts by a buzz from his phone. He grabs it off the seat next to him, staring at the text in confusion. 

_Are you okay? You’ve been stalling for five minutes._

Stiles grins sheepishly, even though Derek can’t see it. That’s not actually the first time he’s done that but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. At least there wasn’t anyone in the car with him. He texts back something about being distracted and throws his phone back on the seat, pulling out of the driveway properly and heading down the road. 

His Dad isn’t home when he gets there, which is good because it gives Stiles time to pack without being interrogated. He’s halfway up the stairs when the front door bangs open behind him. 

He grabs the first thing he can, which is a picture frame on the wall beside him and whips around, tense and moving into a crouch. He relaxes minutely when he sees Lydia and 

Allison in the doorway, standing up properly when Isaac follows them and shuts the door carefully. 

“Nice reflexes Stiles,” Allison says approvingly. Stiles stares pointedly at Lydia, who examines her nails with an air boredom. 

“Maybe, but what exactly were you planning on doing with a picture frame?” She asks, lifting an eyebrow. 

“I thought I’d make soup Lydia, what did you think I was going to do?” he says sarcastically, “throw it, obviously. Also, why are you here?” He’s not whining. He’s not. 

“There are much better ways you could use a picture frame. You could hide if they haven’t seen you and then hit the person over the head with it when they get close.” Allison is kind of scary sometimes.

“Yeah, but Stiles doesn’t have very good co-ordination or aim,” Isaac pipes up, ignoring Stiles’ indignant cry of protest, “so he probably shouldn’t do either of those things, he’d only end up knocking himself out somehow.”

“My self-esteem is rising by the second,” Stiles deadpans, placing the picture back on its hook. It’s one of those horrible school photos that parents insist on buying even though they cost an arm and leg and look like their child’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and shoved in front of a terrifying lady waving a camera in their face. That was literally what had happened to Stiles in this picture, since he and Scott has been looking for bugs in the hedges at recess when the teacher came out to get them. 

Stiles gives an involuntary snort of laughter at the memory, fondly remembering Scott’s matching look of terror as they’d tried to extract themselves from the hedge without losing a limb. 

Lydia taps him on the shoulder and he jumps, almost losing his footing on the stairs. He glares at her hard and then smiles at Isaac, who’d caught hold of his arm before Stiles could fall. 

“Now those are nice reflexes,” Allison grins, winking at Isaac. Stiles groans in disgust and points at them warningly. It’s nice that they’re a couple and all now but, he’d rather they keep the coupling to a minimum around him.

“That doesn’t count, wolf powers are cheating! Also, stop filling the air with sex smells; it’s making me feel sick. And why are we just all stood on the stairs?” Lydia makes a noise of impatience from behind him and starts walking towards Stiles’ room. He has a moment of sheer panic before he remembers that he’s not actually as messy or disgusting as  
Scott, so it should be safe. If Lydia can handle Scott’s level of hygiene, she can handle Stiles’. Besides, it’s not like she hasn’t been in there before and she never sent out a cleaning crew immediately, so there’s that. 

Isaac flicks him on the nose. 

“We’re stood on the stairs because you keep zoning out Stiles,” Lydia calls over her shoulder. He grumbles something about pushy people being pushy under his breath, glancing at Isaac when he coughs out a laugh and grinning. They both straighten up hastily when Lydia clears her throat delicately. 

It’s a bit crowded in Stiles room, but they make do. Allison and Isaac bundle themselves into his computer chair, toes grazing the floor. Stiles thinks of a video he saw on YouTube of a baby giraffe moving around and thinks Isaac looks remarkably similar. He has long arms and legs that sort of sprawl all over the place, and he looks adorably awkward bunched into the chair, hands resting gently on Allison’s hips.

Lydia is anything but gentle as she shoves Stiles towards his wardrobe. She then sits daintily on the edge of his bed, as if she hadn’t just displayed mammoth amounts of strength and crosses her ankles, hands clasped and eyes narrowing at Stiles, as if she knows exactly what she’s thinking. 

“You’d make an excellent therapist Lydia, you look exactly like Morrell when you do that. Now, not that I don’t adore seeing you all here but, why are you here?” Lydia opens her mouth to give a sharp retort, probably with several remarks on his intelligence but, Allison beats her to an explanation.

“Scott texted all of us and let us know what’s going on. Lydia suggested that we come and help you pack, since-”

“Since you have the fashion sense of a toddler and the manners to match.” Lydia interrupts, standing up and marching towards him. Stiles braces himself, but all she does is lean past him and open the wardrobe doors, rolling her eyes as she does so. 

“I don’t see what manners have to do with it and I know full well you’re not going to find anything you actually approve of in there, so why don’t you just go back to your car and get the bags of clothes you bought for me in advance, hmmm?” There’s a moment of silence wherein Lydia glares mutinously and Stiles grins. Then, with a huff, she stalks out of the room, clicking her fingers imperiously at Isaac. 

“She’s going to make me carry it all after that,” Isaac moans, lifting Allison up and depositing her back in the seat. Allison shakes her head fondly at Isaac and then at Stiles. 

“How did you know she had those bags?” She asks, tucking her feet underneath her and spinning the chair slightly to face him, as Stiles sprawls on the bed. He tilts his head towards her and taps the side of his nose.

“It’s a secret I’m afraid. Besides, it’s much less impressive if I tell you that I saw the bags about a week ago in Scott’s room and heard them arguing about whether or not I needed a makeover. I gave him best friend points for saying I looked fine as I am, but retracted one because, come on, I am worth much more than just “fine.” 

Allison giggles, her hair shaking over her forehead as she laughs. “There are best friend points?”

“Absolutely! It’s a fool-proof reward system that I made it when I was training Scott.” Stiles nods at her conspiratorially. 

“Training as in werewolf training?” She grins. 

“Nope,” he answers, popping the “p” sound, “it was more of a “If you’re gonna be my best friend then we need to have ground rules” kind of training, when we were about five or six. He was like a little puppy back then. One time I hit him with a newspaper to get him to stop eating my pizza and he dropped it straight away and sat in the corner for at least five minutes before my dad found out. I think I got grounded for that.” 

Allison is full on laughing when the other two come back. Stiles can barely see Isaac over the mountain of bags in his arms, while Lydia pulls an empty black suitcase behind her on wheels. Stiles joins in the laughing then, until Lydia huffs impatiently and makes him start packing. 

They make burgers at around six o’clock and lounge outside on the back porch to eat and talk. It’s a little strange without Scott and Derek and there, but not uncomfortable. 

“So Stiles, have you thought about what you’re going to say?” Lydia leans back against the wooden railing, looking softer in the fading sunlight, words less sharp than they normally would be. Stiles likes this Lydia better. This Lydia doesn’t look so tense and worried all the time. 

“Say? Did you have some kind of moment in mind?” He teases, although he thinks he knows what she means. 

“What are you going to tell the other packs? It’s a convention, so you’ll have to interact with a lot of werewolves. There might be a few other humans there and I expect there’ll be a couple of different supernatural creatures. You’ve got to make them believe that you and Derek are a couple.”

Stiles nods, humming thoughtfully. 

“I haven’t really thought about it yet, but I guess we should try and stick as close to the truth as possible.”

“Good idea.” Isaac says sleepily, stroking Allison’s hair. “Werewolves have trouble detecting which bits are the lies if you hide them in with the truth. I don’t get something though,  
why do you need to be a couple, why not just friends or packmates?” 

“It’s because of the neighboring packs. Packs higher up in status and power tend to understand that you don’t need to be in love or a werewolf to be a part of the pack. They get that there are humans and banshees and other supernatural creatures and that they aren’t all connected by romance or something.” Allison chews her lip worriedly for a second before continuing. “The packs on either side of us are old. They’re set in their ways and they’ve been around for centuries and all of their pack members are born wolves. They think that if a pack isn’t made up of family, romantic love or if it’s got a variety of races, then that pack is weak and doesn’t deserve its own territory.” 

“We’re hardly weak though,” Stiles snorts. He thinks of Scott, a true alpha that gets more powerful by the day. Lydia’s a banshee, with an immense amount of human and supernatural strength in her. Isaac and Derek are both brilliant beta’s and Allison is completely and utterly deadly. 

Huh.

“I take it back, the rest of the pack is hardly weak.” He bites his lip but then winks at Lydia, who’s frowning at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not being an idiot, im just acknowledging something. I really am your weakest member, at least in terms of being able to protect myself.” 

“You are not weak.” Allison says firmly, kicking him in the thigh with pointy toes. Stiles rolls his eyes and waves an arm around dismissively. 

“I know 'm not useless, I do have some self-esteem, but you all kind of have badass skills that stop you from being little damsels in distress. I need to get me some badass skills.  
Do you think Deaton could train me to be a ninja?” There’s a chorus of groans at that and Stiles has to force his lips not to twitch. They end up spending a half hour arguing over whether Deaton does in fact have ninja skills and if he’d ever teach them to Stiles before the Sheriff pokes his head out of the door.

“As fascinating as this conversation sounds, it’s getting a bit late kids and I’m on an early shift tomorrow.” 

“We’re not kids Dad, didn’t you hear? We’re mature and responsible adults.” Stiles gets to his feet, ignoring his Dad’s scoffing and helps pull Lydia up from the floor. 

He waves them goodbye from the front door while his Dad goes upstairs to take a shower. When he comes back downstairs, Stiles is curled up on the sofa watching an old episode of Supernatural and trying not to think of tomorrow. 

“Stiles, why exactly is there a suitcase on your bed?” Stiles manages to freeze guiltily even though he’d barely been moving at all. He sighs, puffing up his cheeks and tipping his head over the back of the sofa so he can look at his dad upside down. 

“Dad, I’m running away with Scott tomorrow. We’re going to get married and live in a yellow house and have dozens of werebabies and live happily ever after.” 

The Sheriff looks thoughtful for a moment before he proceeds to ruin Stiles’ life. 

“I always thought there was something special between you two. You always did have a lot of chemistry. Just remember to be safe until you’re absolutely sure you want to have werebabies, okay Stiles?” 

Stiles stops making horrified noises in order to stare wide-eyed at his Dad, who’s grinning evilly. 

“Oh my God, I need brain bleach. I cannot allow these images to remain in my mind, Im scarred for life.” The Sheriff rolls his eyes at his dramatics and then sits in the armchair near Stiles, gesturing at him. 

“I assume by those flails that you mean for me to tell you the real reason for my suitcase? And I assume by that glare that I am correct. Okay, well, here goes.” 

It takes about five minutes to explain the situation to his Dad, who sits calmly in the chair the entire time. Stiles isn’t fooled. Any second now and the man’s going to spontaneously combust. 

“Derek Hale. Jesus son, you don’t do these things by halves do you?”

It takes another five minutes to reassure the Sheriff that he won’t be in any danger (and Stiles takes a moment to be thankful that his Dad doesn’t have super-hearing so he can hear how Stiles heart is basically just skipping all the beats) and a further five to frantically inform him that there will be absolutely no sex. None at all. Ever.

So, all in all, it takes about twenty minutes to tell his Dad why he’s going away and by the end of it all Stiles if left drained, exhausted, mentally scarred and with the uncomfortable feeling that his Dad thinks he’s going away for a week long sexathon with a 24 year old werewolf named Derek Hale. 

 

The drive up to the convention isn’t awkward simply because Stiles refuses to let it be awkward. They say goodbye to everyone and pack their stuff in Derek’s stupid car, which is only stupid because it’s not the Camaro or the Jeep. Why would anyone get rid of a perfectly good Camaro? 

Anyway, Stiles fills the stupid car with music almost the second Derek puts his foot on the pedal. There will be no awkward silence on this trip. 

“Come on Derek, cheer up! We’re going on a road trip!” Derek sighs and shakes his head, eyes on the road. “What? Come on, what’s wrong?” 

“I just, I don’t think this is going to work,” he shrugs, arms huge in his leather jacket. Stiles frowns at him sharply. 

“What? Why not? You didn’t say anything yesterday, which, let’s face it, would have been the ideal time to mention any lingering reservations. Or even this morning, you know, before we actually started driving.” He keeps his tone even, but turns the music down a bit, listening hard for Derek’s reply. 

Derek shrugs again, expression blank. 

“Look Derek, either pull over the car now or tell me why the hell you think this isn’t going to work.”

Derek rolls his eyes, uttering something sarcastic under his breath before-

“We don’t smell like we’re together.” 

Apparently awkward silences will be happening on this trip. Stiles blinks back the shock for a second before he realises that it makes sense. The place will be full of werewolves, all with super powerful noses and it’s well-known that a werewolf in a relationship usually scents their partner. Another territory thing, as far as Stiles understands. He thinks for a second, turning the music back up so that he doesn’t have to talk. 

“Oh, idea! Hang on, pull over the car for a second.” Derek looks bewildered for a moment before he does as he’s told. 

“Good dog,” Stiles smirks, unbuckling his seatbelt. Derek growls at him, before arching an eyebrow. Stiles beckons him to follow as he gets out of the car, heading towards the boot and clicking it open. 

He rummages through his suitcase, grabbing some of the clothes that Lydia didn’t buy and opening Derek’s sports bag up. Derek makes a noise of understanding and pulls off his leather jacket. Stiles shoves his clothes, which hopefully smell like him, into Derek’s bag. Then he grabs a couple of Derek’s Henley’s and puts them in his suitcase, zipping both bags up afterwards. He turns to Derek, who’s standing there with his hand outstretched, jacket clasped in his hand. 

Stiles grins and pulls it on over his sweater, feeling ten times warmer than he normally allows on a summer day, but barely caring. He shoves his hands into the too-deep pockets, tilts his head at Derek and smiles questioningly. 

“Think it’ll work? We’ll have to keep close for the convention, so we’ll probably start to smell like each other soon enough anyway, but this should work for now, yeah?”  
Derek is oddly quiet as he looks at Stiles, but he nods, corners of his mouth edged up in a half-smile. 

They get back in the car and the first half of the drive is full of soft chatter and teasing, until Stiles finds Derek’s iPod in the glovebox, which has the cheesiest music to ever cheese on it. Stiles alternates between cackling uproariously, making fun of a scowling Derek and belting out the words loudly to all the songs in ridiculous voices for the second half of the drive. Derek refuses to admit that he smiles even once, but Stiles saw anyway, so it doesn’t matter. 

Thankfully, Stiles turns the music off when they reach the road to the hotel. It’s basically a mansion, set up at the end of a driveway through about eight acres of woods. It’s reclusive, out in the middle of nowhere and looks a little like something out of a fairytale, Stiles thinks, what with the porch swing and all the red brick. 

Derek parks the car and gets out, while Stiles stares out of the window and swallows back his nervousness. It hadn’t seemed like a really big deal before, but now? Big. Freaking. Deal. 

“Are you getting out any time today or would you like me to carry you inside?” Stiles jolts out of his thoughts, which are dangerous at the best of times, and registers the way Derek’s opened his door and apparently stood there for a good while, all without him noticing. He really has to stop doing that. 

“Well, only if you carry me in a fireman’s lift, bridal style isn’t as manly.” Derek grabs Stiles’ hand and yanks him out of the car, which proves ineffective considering Stiles hasn’t unbuckled his seatbelt yet. 

“Jesus Christ, you motherfu-”

“Good afternoon gentlemen.” A wide smile greets Stiles when he looks up, clutching his shoulder and gritting his teeth against the torrent of swear words. The smile belongs to a woman who looks around thirty, black hair wavy around her face and laugh lines prominent around blue eyes. Stiles gives her a weak grin while Derek smiles charmingly, shaking her hand and introducing them. 

Finally getting out of the car, Stiles tunes in to what the lady’s saying. 

“-on the fourth floor, in room 36B. You get your own room of course and there are appliances and a bathroom in there, but you’ll be expected to come down for meals and for the meetings. I’ll let you two get settled in, I can see others arriving now. It was nice to meet you both.” 

The lady-April, Stiles thinks she’s called, walks off to where the next couple are pulling into a space. The car park looks pretty full already, but there are plenty of spaces left, so 

Stiles guesses this is going to be a pretty crowded week.

“How’s your shoulder?” Derek smirks. Stiles glares at him and gestures to the boot.  
“It hurts actually, so you can carry the bags, jackass.” Stiles stalks off before Derek can protest, entering the hotel and sighing at the warm gust of air that hits him inside. He gets the key from the receptionist and checks them in, naming their pack and location in the margin of the book. 

The trip up doesn’t take too long, despite it being four floors but, Stiles knows he’s going to be sick of the stairs by their second stay here. He watches Derek pull Stiles’ suitcase up the steps, cursing the thing like it tried to attack him, and thinks that karma is a beautiful, wonderful thing of beautifulness. He may actually say that out loud actually, because  
Derek glares at him. Stiles makes a very graceful exit from the stairwell to their room and absolutely does not trip over his own feet on the way. 

“Karma,” he hears Derek call behind him. 

 

 

They are avoiding the very big, very obvious elephant in the room that looks like a double bed. It looks like a double bed because it is a double bed. Which means they have to sleep in it. Together. Okay, so they aren’t really avoiding the problem, so much as staring at it in horror and hoping it’s a hallucination.

“Maybe if we make a line of cushions down the middle,” Stiles muses, before catching Derek’s expression. “What? I don’t know! I’m making suggestions here, rather than making constipated faces at the bed which, cannot magically split into two Derek, no matter how hard you stare at it!” 

“We really didn’t think any of this through, did we?” Derek says miserably. Stiles sighs, dropping his shoulders and goes to stand near the bed. Derek winces. 

“What was that for?” Stiles blinks at him. Derek winces again but just shakes his head. Really, Derek should know by now that Stiles doesn’t let things go. He picks up a pillow and lobs it straight at Derek, who cheats and uses his werewolf reflexes to catch the pillow right in front of his faces. 

“Ha! That would have totally hit you if you hadn’t caught it,” he crows victoriously, jumping onto the bed and landing cross-legged in the middle. “Isaac doesn’t know what he’s talking about, my aiming rules!” 

Derek shakes his head and sits at the end of the bed, wincing again and then burying his face in the pillow. 

“Seriously, dude, what the hell’s wrong? You look like someone’s poking you in the eye with a knife.” 

“I can hear almost everyone in the hotel and most of them are territorial werewolves with their partners in a strange place full of other territorial werewolves. So, basically, they’re all having sex.” 

Stiles chokes on air and then splutters for about ten seconds, waving his arms around before collapsing against the headboard. He gives Derek a sympathetic look when he winces again and then his eyes widen in worry. 

“Wait!” He clamps his mouth shut and then leans forward, lowing his voice, “If you can hear them, could they all hear us talking about splitting the bed?” Derek looks panicked for about a second before he thinks about it.

“I don’t think so, they all sound pretty busy to me,” he whispers, grimacing, “but we’ll have to be pretty careful from now on.”

Stiles stifles a snicker, because yeah, the mental images are disgusting but he can appreciate the humor in the situation, even if he feels bad for Derek. Derek gives him a wry smile and Stiles loses it, laughing as quietly as he can into the nearest pillow. Derek grins down at him when Stiles can finally breathe again. 

“I’d probably be joining in if it were happening to anyone else,” Derek admits and Stiles laughs again.

“You know, this won’t be so bad,” he hums, waving at the bed. “You can sleep right there in the corner and I’ll lie here.” He sprawls across as much of the bed as he can, stretching each limb out until he takes up every bit of room available. Derek snorts with reluctant laughter and chucks his pillow at Stiles’ head, which is a challenge that cannot go unaccepted, obviously. 

They head downstairs about a half hour later, looking just as disheveled as almost all of the other guests, only for very different reasons.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coupley stuff happens (idk)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit shorter than the last one, for which i apologise, but the last one is longer than both chapters :3 Also, sorry it took so long people of earth, but I had things to do, planets to invade, that sort of thing, you know how it is! Anyhow, I'm glad that people liked the first chapter, thank you so much to those who responded, I hope this one is just as well received :) i'm off, i have coursework to procrastinate over and Agents of Shield to catch up on, happy reading!

An irritating beeping sound is what wakes Stiles up in the morning. He dozes in the place between asleep and awake for a few minutes longer, until the noise finally becomes too much. The cotton clears from his mind as he shakes himself awake, sitting up to stretch and take in the room. He slams a hand on the button of the old-fashioned alarm clock, which is basically just a black brick that blinks red numbers at him. The beeping sound stops and he sighs in relief. He’s always hated alarm clocks; the one his Dad bought him for his birthday is wrapped in an old pillowcase and buried at the bottom of his wardrobe, underneath piles of old trainers. 

Now that he’s awake he can hear the shower running from the connected bathroom. It figures that a tiny beeping is what woke him up and not the shower. Stiles staggers out of bed and over to his suitcase, which he then realises is empty. It confuses him for a moment before he remembers that Derek made him put everything away in the drawers last night before they went to bed. Which was a thought he had been trying to actively avoid. Derek in bed with him, that is, not putting away his stuff. 

“Stiles? You awake yet?” Stiles jumps at the voice, holding his hands up guiltily before remembering that he hasn’t even being accused of anything, let alone actually done anything. He yells back an affirmative and pulls out a set of clothes that he vaguely recalls Lydia telling him go well together. Normally, he hangs onto Lydia’s every word, if only to stop her from exacting some kind of revenge on him for not paying her attention but, if the words pouring out of her mouth are even slightly related to clothes and fashion advice, he tends to tune them out. 

Derek exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam, dressed in his usual Henley and jeans. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles, who has his hands half covering his face. 

“What? I was just making sure I didn’t see anything that might cause agonising pain in my eyes.” He sniffs indignantly and steps towards the bathroom, which is still practically billowing fog. “Jesus, dude, how much hot water did you use? Is there a sauna in there?” Derek rolls his eyes and heads over to the bed. 

“You know, one day you’re going to roll your eyes so hard that they roll right out of your head and I promise I will not be there to save your ass like I always do.” Derek snorts and turns around, crossing his arms at Stiles. 

“I think the amount of life-debts we owe each other has to be at least equal by now.”   
Stiles snorts in disbelief and strolls into the bathroom, coughing dramatically and waving his hands at the steam for effect. He slams the door shut on Derek’s own snort and starts up the shower. 

 

The breakfast room is pretty horrible. Stiles is a pretty social person and he’s not what anyone would call shy, but this is just a bit much. Derek looks even more uncomfortable than him. They’re both seated at a table for two, crammed into the corner of the room. The room itself has the look of an old Bed and Breakfast, one that’s been passed down from grandma to grandma for generations and never been redecorated. It’s a sharp contrast to the rest of the hotel, which is pretty amazing. 

Derek growls under his breath when a group of chattering couples knocks into their table. Stiles nudges at his leg under the table, their knees brushing together. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him but doesn’t move away, for which Stiles feels strangely triumphant. One of the men leans back against the table and Stiles is tempted to use his other foot to kick him in the ass, which is practically sat on Stiles’ plate. It’s an empty plate because Stiles had inhaled his food as fast as he could, in the hopes of escaping as soon as possible, but it’s still a bit rude to sit on it. Derek apparently thinks so too because he growls again and this time the couples hear him. 

The couple right up against their table turns around, looking bewildered at the noise. Stiles guesses that they’re not werewolves, but that only rules out one supernatural creature. There’s a whole bestiary full of other options. Stiles glances at Derek, who looks one second away from sprinting full pelt out of this room or flipping the table in their direction. Stiles clears his throat. 

“Uh, sorry about that, the noise is kind of getting to him, you know?” He adopts a fond look and aims it at Derek, who looks even surlier at the remark. He grunts out what could be considered an apology, if one speaks troll, which, actually, Stiles does speak troll. 

“Oh, that’s alright man. What status are you?” Stiles blinks at that. The guy doesn’t seem to think anything is wrong with the question, but Stiles begs to disagree. He runs a quick eye over him, taking in the light hair, black slacks and a shirt that looks like he actually bothered to iron it. Everything that Stiles tries to iron just seems to crease up even more, or more likely burn. The polite smile seems to waver the longer it takes Stiles to answer.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just, most people usually ask names first.” The man blushes before sneering, but Stiles put up with Jackson’s sneers for the first half of his life, so this is just weak. Instead of saying any of that, he holds a hand out to the woman next to him, who’s trying to hold a smile back. 

“Hey, I’m Stiles and this is Derek,” he smiles widely, shaking her hand and indicating Derek with a small wave. 

“Maria and you’ve met James, my husband,” she gestures at James, who’s stopped sneering now but still seems to be blushing. “And the status question is pretty normal around here actually, so you may want to get used to it. It’s a way of identifying who’s going to be at which lectures.”

“What do you mean? I thought we had to attend all of them?” says Derek, frowning at Maria, who jerks in surprise at his voice. It’s James that answers him. 

“Of course not. It’s mostly werewolves here, and they can’t just stuff a bunch of werewolves in rooms together, not when they might have tensions between certain packs. Personally, I don’t trust any werewolves further than I can throw them and I probably wouldn’t even be attending if it weren’t absolutely necessary.” 

Stiles raises an eyebrow the man, who shrinks back a little and then puffs up defensively, as if daring Stiles to contradict him. And, well, a dare is a dare. Stiles leans forward, propping his head up on his hand. 

“Okay, there is so much wrong with that speech that I can’t even address it all, but obviously you have no idea what you’re talking about. No offense intended, but you actually can stuff a bunch of werewolves in a room together, regardless of tension. In fact, that’s the whole reason we’re here! Alphas aren’t allowed to attend, so there won’t be too many problems, and we’re supposed to sort out the tension with the lectures, which is a bit hard to do if all the packs are in separate rooms.” Maria snorts, not even trying to hide it this time. 

“Also, whether or not you trust werewolves isn’t the point and you probably couldn’t lay a hand near one, let alone throw one. And in case you didn’t know, every single person in the room could hear your little high and mighty speech there, so you might want to be a bit more careful about expressing your opinions on how trustworthy werewolves are, unless you want to get unceremoniously kicked out of here. Not that you’d mind apparently, since you’d rather not be here at all. Oh and one more thing, if you could just look to your left?” Stiles grins wickedly, pointing at Derek. Derek is in his beta form, which is still enough to send a tiny shudder of fear through Stiles, so it definitely terrifies James. 

Maria stays for a bit after James hightails it back to his rooms and breakfast suddenly gets a bit better. Derek keeps quiet, but Stiles keeps nudging his knees and toeing lightly at his shin, trying to keep the miserable expression off of Derek’s face with inside jokes and sarcasm. He makes several snide remarks that have Derek responding before he can stop himself, and Stiles smiles brilliantly each time. It’s not long before Derek’s as relaxed as he was this morning when they woke up. 

Derek stands to take their plates back and pick up a timetable from the front desk, so that they know which lectures to attend. Stiles pokes him in the side as he passes, squawking when Derek flicks him in the ear and growls. 

Maria is looking at him knowingly. Stiles is instantly on edge. She has a face that makes the exact same expressions as Lydia when she has an idea. It’s vaguely terrifying. 

“What?” He asks wearily, “what do you want?” Maria rolls her eyes and stands up. 

“I don’t want anything, except to tell you that I think you make a good couple.” 

Stiles blinks in confusion before he realises what she’s talking about. Then he makes a small noise in the back of his throat that he desperately hopes no one hears. Given that he’s in a place packed with supernatural creatures and their enhanced hearing, he thinks it’s unlikely. 

“Uh, yeah, right, no that would make sense. Because me and Derek are together. So yeah, we make a good couple, I guess, uh, thanks?” He holds back his wince and then jumps feet when Derek appears at his shoulder.

“Smooth, Stilinski,” Derek snorts, before offering a hesitant smile to Maria. She smiles back warmly, winks at Stiles and waggles her fingers over her shoulder as she leaves. Stiles scowls at her back, fighting back a blush. He hates being pale, it makes it impossible to hide being embarrassed. 

“Shut up and just don’t say anything. Don’t even open your mouth.” He warns, waving a hand at Derek and standing as well. He comes up to Derek’s chin, or maybe a bit higher and inexplicably, the realisation causes flutters in his stomach. Derek smirks at him and mimes zipping his lips shut. It makes Stiles laugh, which he hates, so he storms maturely out of the breakfast room, Derek smirking at his heels. 

The first lecture is pretty boring. They sit next to each other on small, hard chairs. Derek seems to find them particularly uncomfortable because he keeps shifting towards Stiles and then back again. He also seems to have picked up some of Stiles’ habits, seeing as how his hands are twitching back and forth in his lap, like he can’t decide what to do with them. Stiles shoots him a bemused look and Derek freezes. 

Stiles tunes back into the lecture almost reluctantly. Actually, there’s no “almost” about it, he’s completely reluctant about it and really doesn’t want to listen to the droning, bearded man that Stiles thinks is either Gandalf or Dumbledore, only way less cool. And ten times more boring. It’s just an introduction to the week, which Stiles already knows, so he doesn’t feel bad about leaning back into his chair and ignoring the hell out of the man in favour of going to his happy place. 

The next lecture is way more interesting. There are more werewolves in this room, which is bigger and lighter, but also less noisy. Stiles knows this is all for the benefit of the supernaturally-inclined, but he appreciates it all the same from his status as a lowly human. The talk is on banshees, sprites and fae and it’s all delivered by a girl, who is a strange mix of all three creatures. Stiles definitely wants to talk to her if he can manage it. 

He shifts his eyes around during a break and notices something a little bit startling. Maybe it shouldn’t have been startling, maybe it should have been obvious but, he hadn’t noticed the sheer amount of couples that were here before. It doesn’t matter where he looks, people have their arms wrapped around each other, hands clasped and couples are sneaking swift kisses from their seats. Stiles shifts in his seat and realises Derek’s doing the same thing. His hands are twitching again, like they had in the last lecture and now Stiles thinks he knows why. 

Slowly, Stiles leans back in his chair, tilting his body towards Derek. He shifts so that he’s half leaning on Derek’s shoulder and feels Derek’s surprised inhale against his arm. He drags his chair closer so that he fits more comfortably into Derek’s side and waits for the werewolf to react. It takes a minute of Stiles awkwardly holding his breath before Derek slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. It takes him by surprise and yet the movement is careful, made to look effortless to anyone else. 

It feels nice, safe even. 

When they stand to go, Stiles links his hand with Derek’s, twining their fingers together and humming happily. He catches a few eyes following them out of the room and tugs Derek closer. Derek doesn’t object. 

 

Stiles let’s Derek go for a drive in the evening. Normally, he would be a bit apprehensive about being in this place without back-up, but he doesn’t think anything’s going to happen. Derek looks relieved as he heads out of the door but, Stiles isn’t offended; he’s just as grateful for the break. 

The thing is, is that they’re closer now, but they still aren’t as close as the rest of the pack. They’re friends, to an extent. It’s nice for Stiles to know that Derek’s always going to be there. He’s pack and he’s trustworthy, but Stiles has never really thought about them getting closer than they are now. Pack had always been enough before. Now though, it feels a little inadequate. 

Objectively, yeah, Derek is hotter than hell. He’s hotter than the sun and the equator and the earth’s core and the flaming wrath of a thousand dragons, okay? Stiles can say that without a hysterical freak-out, being bisexual, and he knows that Derek is amazingly good looking. He just never figured it would matter. 

It almost doesn’t matter, not yet, but there’s the potential for it to matter. There’s the potential for it to become something. Stiles isn’t really sure he wants to think about it right now though. He gets to their room finally and tries to think of anything else but Derek Hale. It’s kind of impossible. Derek’s things are everywhere and the scent of his aftershave still lingers near the bathroom. There’s a pair of his shoes near the door that Stiles almost steps on and his handwriting is visible on the notepad they have by the phone. It reads something along the lines of “three sugars, no milk” and Stiles is confused for a second before he realises what it is. It’s the way he asked for his coffee this morning, when Derek offered to grab one for him as well. The realisation makes him blush.

He trips over to the bed and falls face first into the covers. Tomorrow they have to find the pack that’s been causing them trouble and negotiate with them, which isn’t going to be easy, since all Stiles wants to do is tell them what stuck-up old fashioned morons they are and all Derek wants to do is rip their throats out. Instead, they have to do as Scott’s asked. Which is to convince the pack that the Hale-McCall pack is strong, trusting and has complete control. They can’t have any weak members. 

Stiles sighs, wonders if Derek will give him a hickey as a little extra proof for the pack and then groans at his line of thinking. Nope. Absolutely not. He shuts his eyes, shoves his face into his pillow and falls into a light sleep. 

He wakes up at about one in the morning, when Derek creeps into the room. Stiles can’t be bothered to acknowledge him, just shuffles around and drifts slowly between this world and the land of nod. Derek crawls into the bed, smelling of night air and making the bedsprings creak. Stiles shivers and jumps when one of Derek’s cold feet brushes his bare leg. 

Still heavy from sleep, he twists around, burrowing closer to Derek and practically cocooning them both in the covers. Derek makes a surprised sound and then goes still. Stiles is too busy welcoming sleep to see if Derek relaxes, but he feels an arm wrap around his shoulders and guesses he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! You like? Tell me? Toodle-loo!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that was okay? I don't have a beta so let me know if its crappy and i'll try to fix it! happy reading and Thank You :3


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